


Max's Journal

by TheWordBox



Category: Camp Camp (Web Series)
Genre: All the Campbell Campers, Alternate Universe - School, Diary/Journal, Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Profanity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-02-23 16:59:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 8,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13194549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWordBox/pseuds/TheWordBox
Summary: Everything around Max is unfamiliar to him: new town, new school, new people. He hates these things, but most of all he hates the fact that his outlet for his anger resides in his English homework.





	1. School Entry 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Camp Camp belongs to Rooster Teeth.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please Answer the Questions on the Board. Also Write a Paragraph About What you Did Over Summer.

Name: **Max**

Subject: **English Journal**

Period: **1**

Date: **8/14**

_David, I hope you’re aware of just how stupid this is._

_But just in case you’re not, I’ll put it into perspective for you; this is the first fucking class of the first fucking day of school, and the first fucking thing you do after homeroom ends is hand each of us a notebook and tell us to write about ourselves, our summer vacation, and ‘whatever else we want to write about.’ Did you really expect this to go well at all? Do you honestly believe any of us are going to like you after you’ve forced us to complete the most cliché back-to-school assignment to ever be dreamed up, with the addition of making us write it in an ugly-ass notebook that insinuates we’re going to have to do more work like this?_

_I sure as hell don’t like you. And judging from the fact that you moved me to the front of the room before the second bell even rang, you don’t like me much either. That’s okay. No one likes me, and being in the front of the classroom just gives me an easier range to hit you with more paper airplanes when you’re being stupid. I have a feeling I’m going to throw a lot of paper airplanes at you._

_I’m already getting tired of writing in this stupid-ass book, so I’ll wrap this up and answer your fucking questions. I see you’ve made this easier for us all by writing them on the whiteboard. It’s stupid and annoying, just like you already are. But I digress:_

_My name is Max, but you already fucking knew that. My name is on the attendance sheet, I told you my name when you moved me to the front of the room, and you fucking wrote it for me on the front of this notebook. It’s not that hard to remember; you can’t be that stupid._

_I am ten years old, but that doesn’t matter. If it did, you’d find it out yourself by looking at my student file. I’ll bet you’re going to do that anyway, to check my behavior record. I’ll bet you’re going to do that for the rest of the kids too, to make sure they’re not lying about their ages, which just loops back around to my point._

_I’m not even going to bother telling you my birthday or my favorite color, because neither of those things fucking matter either._

_I moved to Sleepy Peak at the beginning of this summer (or is it last summer? Whatever, I’m talking about the summer that just ended), and it’s boring as shit here. There’s nothing fun to do except harass people, but even that gets old after a while. About as old as this place’s residents. Seriously, this town’s population is so swollen with retired seniors that there’s one fucking school for all the kids living here._

_There’s not even a school bus system, so kids like me who live too far away to walk have to use the public buses, the likes of which have a grossly impractical schedule and are absolutely disgusting. So in order to get to school on time today, I had to wake up at five, get dressed, make myself breakfast, and run to the bus stop. I then barely caught the bus and ended up standing the entire ride because all of the seats either smelled like vomit or were occupied by old white people. In other words, I am tired as fuck, and my first impression of the school I’ll be attending indefinitely is you and this stupid-ass notebook with this stupid-ass assignment._

_Speaking of this stupid-ass assignment, I should probably stop digressing so I can finish it and get some goddamn sleep._

_What does digressing even mean? Whatever, I’m digressing again._

_I have no siblings and no pets, but my home life is really none of your fucking business. I’ve told you enough about it anyway. And—I’m certain this won’t shock you—I have no friends. At all. Never really have, and never will._

_Don’t act like that surprises you; you already know I’m an asshole. And I don’t need your pity either, because I’m friendless by choice. If you’re wondering why, just look around the room; all these kids are weirdos and morons. Why would I want to associate with any of them? I will admit that my old home and Sleepy Peak are the same in this regard; they’re both full of idiotic freaks, and ideally, I wouldn’t ever have to be in the same room as any of them._

_And lastly, what I did I do over the summer? I moved; I already told you that, dipshit. I moved to a town full of morons._

_In my old town, there was a big movie theater with all the cool, new movies, wi-fi that actually worked, and radio stations with good music._

_Here, in Sleepy Peak, the theater is decrepit and outdated, the wi-fi is total shit, and the only radio station is Farmer’s Almanac._

_I fucking hate this place._

* * *

**_Max, in future journal entries, please refrain from using foul language; that’s fine for self-expression in your personal journal, but not your school one. I’m sure people like you; I certainly do, but it is worth noting that paper airplanes are not tolerated at this school, so please don’t throw any more in class. Normally, I would also say sleeping in class is discouraged, but given your morning schedule that you described here, I’d be okay with you sleeping in homeroom (so long as there’s no important announcements to make) and in the last few minutes of class if you’ve finished all your work. You can also come into my room during lunch to sleep, if you’d like._ **

**_Just so you know, we do have a school bus, but it’s currently out of commission, and it may take some time before it’s repaired._ **

**_For future reference, the meaning of digress is to temporarily go off-topic when writing about a subject. It looks like you’ve used digress correctly in your entry every time, so good job! I encourage you to use more high-level vocabulary in your writing._ **

**_We’re all so glad to have you here at Cameron Campbell’s Charter School. I’m sure that once you get to know the students here, you’ll make some new friends. I look forward to spending the following school year with you, and Campe Diem!_ **

**_~David_ **


	2. School Entry 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wrote extensive comments in each of your journals. Please respond to them in another entry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For some reason, I got this vague idea that people wanted MORE. This entry is decidedly LESS. The next two entries will be longer and provide more insight into everything, I promise.
> 
> Also: it took me a little time to figure it out, but I've decided the chapter titles will organize the entries, and the chapter summaries will be Max's assignments (if he has one). So if you're confused about why Max is writing what he's writing... look to the chapter title or the summary.

Name: **Max**

Subject: **English Journal**

Period: **1**

Date: **_8/17_**

**_David, I’m pleased to say I have no choice but to be brief today: some ~~fucker~~ kid stole my pencil yesterday, and now the only writing utensil I have is this pen I found on the bus this morning. It’s chewed up, nasty, and doesn’t have a ~~fucking~~ cap, so I have to use it as sparingly as possible until I can swipe another pencil or pen._ **

**_I’ll organize my ‘response’ to your ‘extensive comments’ in chronological order:_ **

  1. **_Cursing – Long story short, I’ll listen to you for now. But as you can tell, old habits die pretty ~~fucking~~ hard. But I am honestly trying not to use ‘foul language’, and I’ve never done that before, so no ~~bitching~~ complaining._**
  2. **_Personal Journal – What makes you think I ~~fucking~~ have enough time or ~~shit~~ money for that? Writing down thoughts in some prissy little diary is for nerds and losers. I am insulted._**
  3. **_You Like Me – Prove it and let me sit wherever I want like all the other kids get to do. Until then, I’m calling BULL SHIT!_**
  4. **_Sleeping – I’ll acquiesce to that offer to sleep in homeroom, but there is no way ~~in hell~~ I’m about to willingly keep myself in your classroom when I could be somewhere that is  not your classroom. Thanks but no thanks._**
  5. **_School Bus – Why does this place only have one school bus for all the students attending this school? Unless the driver knows something about navigating this town that I don’t, that’s really ~~fucking~~ moronic._**
  6. **_Vocab – what do I get out of using higher-level words? If I don’t get ~~shit~~ anything, I don’t ~~give a shit~~ care._**
  7. **_‘So Glad’ – Don’t try and give me that. My classmates and I harbor a mutual hatred for each other, and the principal hasn’t even been here all week._**
  8. **_New Friends – No. Just no. I’ve already acknowledged this, and my pen is running out of ink. I don't have time to correct you again._**
  9. ****_‘ CAMPE DIEM’ – What ~~the fuck~~ is this!? This is a charter school ~~you~~ ~~dipshit~~ David, not some smiley summer camp!_****

* * *

**_Max, my comments will be much shorter after this entry. Just letting you know._**

**_If you ever need a pencil, just ask me politely. I’ll happily give you one to keep!_**

**_You’re allowed to sit wherever you want again come next Monday. One week of lost privileges is what we agreed on after the paper airplane incident._**

**_The Quartermaster has been our bus driver here at Cameron Campbell’s Charter School since I myself was a student. I can assure you of his amazing efficiency in getting all the students in Sleepy Peak to school in a safe and timely manner._**

**_Every time you use an upper-level vocabulary word correctly in a sentence, I give you two points of extra-credit on your assignment. You’ll hear more about my extra-credit policies next week, when we begin our more serious classwork._**

**_It’s always hard being the new kid. I’m certain you’ll all start liking each other in the next week or so. Don't worry!_**

**_I know: Principal Campbell isn’t here very often. He’s a major philanthropist, so he’s constantly traveling the world. Don’t worry about his absence; he’s just busy doing wonderful things._** ** _He’s a great man—like the father I never had!_**

**_Campe Diem is our school motto! Mr. Campbell says it a lot—I actually don't know why he does, but the Quartermaster might. If you’re curious, ask him. Or you might get an opportunity to ask Mr. Campbell himself if he drops in on an impromptu visit. Who knows?_**

**_Campe Diem!_**




**_~David_ **


	3. Private Entry 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does anyone here understand what it's like to try and write something when you have no clue what you want to write about? Your work ends up really disorganized, right? Right. That's what's happening to Max here... it's a little hard to follow.
> 
> You've been warned.

**_This is a PRIVATE Journal_ **

**_If found, mind your own fucking business and deliver to The Only Bar, near Atlas Hardware and Muffin Topz._ **

_8/19_

_Let’s get something clear—the only reason I’m writing in this is because there’s absolutely nothing for me to do right now, and I’m bored as shit. I finished all my homework in class yesterday, and now I've been trying to fill up my time without electronics or money. I'm desperate for something to do, and that is the one and only reason I'm using this piece of dead-ass tree. I'm not a nerd, and I'm not a loser. Okay? The moment my parents get around to setting up the goddamn TV, I am never picking this stupid thing up again!_

_…_

_To be honest, I’m not entirely sure what to write. It’s hard to come up with words when I don’t have an assignment to keep in mind._

_…_

_My name is Max._

_I’m ten years old._

_My hair is black, my skin is brown (my parents are from India), and I've been told by a lot of different fuckers that I should smile more. I’m the shortest boy my age that I know, which I fucking hate._

_I live in a dump of a town called Sleep Peak, although I only just moved here at the beginning of last summer. I hate it here almost as much as I hate my lack of height._

_I hate a shit-ton of things, and I don’t think there’s enough graphite in this shitty town to record it all. So you’ll just have to take my fucking word for it._

_I don’t particularly like anything, but hoodies are pretty cool. I always wear this blue one I’ve had since I was seven or eight. I’ve had to get a lot of new clothes in that time (because I’ve been growing a fuck-ton (and yet I'm still short as fuck)), but the hoodie’s always fit me, so that’s nice. One of the things I hate is not having my hoodie. If I do any more growing, though, I think I’ll finally have to get a new one. And I have no allowance to speak of, so unless I find a twenty on the street or something, I’m fucked._

_I’ll be taller. I'll also be without my hoodie for the first time since I was seven._

_I have mixed feelings about my impending puberty, as you can probably surmise._

_…_

_David—my English teacher—handed these journals out to everyone last Monday. Which happened to be my first day of school in this sucky little town. He gave us two notebooks each, actually. One of them, I’m using for the crappy assignments he gives to us for busywork; they’re really moronic and aggravating, but I’m successfully maintaining my sanity in his happy-go-lucky-as-fuck classroom by tormenting him with origami planes. (I just realized how wimpy and stupid that makes him sound. I’m okay with that.)_

_The second journal is this one (duh!). According to him, we can either save it as a spare just in case we lose the first one, or we can use it as “our very own personal diary!” Christ, David is so fucking peppy and stupid…_

_I don’t have to worry about losing my school journal, though, because I’m not some fucking idiot who loses his shit all the time. So, as I’ve already mentioned, I’m using this shitty collection of paper to wait out the weekend._

_It’s strange; in my old town when I had a free weekend, I used it to take naps and relax. I think my habits have changed because I’m out of the house so much these days._

_Yeah, I don’t spend a lot of time at my new house; it’s still full of boxes that no one has bothered to unpack, and I don’t like being around my parents very much. So I’m not at home right now. Want to guess where I am?_

_You guessed wrong. I know you did. No one would guess a ten-year-old brat in a blue hoodie would be chilling out in a fucking bar._

_To be honest, though, It's The Only Bar (I don't want to write that long-ass name out every time I talk about this place, so I'm just going to call it the Bar) is actually a pretty nice place—that’s understandable, though, considering it’s literally the only bar in all of Sleepy Peak. The owner’s cool, and he’s not a racist prick, unlike some of the wheezy fuckers I have to share the public bus with to get to school. There’s nice seats, a dartboard, an old jukebox… _ _no kids’ drinks, though. Apparently even the root beer is spiked. But I think the barkeep (who also happens to be the owner) said something about investing in non-alcoholic drinks and kids' meals soon. Until then, I get free tap water. Cheers to capitalism, I guess._

_All in all, it’s the kind of joint where I’d hang out with friends— if I had friends. There’s even a lost-and-found in the corner, so, if I lose this journal, I’ve deemed to just tell people to leave it here instead of explicitly saying this is my journal—not that any kid would listen to the message I wrote on the front. Not that I’ll lose this thing, because, as mentioned before, I'm not a moron._

_When I was exploring Sleepy Peak over the summer, I thought there was only one school: Cameron Campbell’s Charter School, the school I attend now. I never came across any other school except Sleepy Peak Community College, so I assumed Campbell's school was my only option for an education._

_But then the address for my new house got registered into the postal system about the same time I had my first day at Campbell’s. I came home from school one day (Tuesday, I think) to find a fuck-ton of spam-mail for a place called Wood Scout Military School in the mailbox._

_I didn’t read much on the flyers, but I asked the barkeep at the Bar about it, and he said it was a boarding school out on Lake Lilac. I’m kind of disappointed in myself for not learning about it sooner; Campbell’s school is located on that same lake. I should have noticed, dammit!_

_This place is supposed to be super harsh on its students, and the kids are driven by some primal, testosterone-based need to beat the living shit out of people (okay, I’m paraphrasing now, but you get it)._

_The Wood Scouts are also, apparently, experiencing an all-time low in their recruitment efforts, so they’ve resorted to constantly mailing advertisements to families with male, school-aged children and even made door-to-door recruitment requests. On the one hand, I am increasingly glad I’m never home these days, so I'm at very little risk of confronting these dickwads. On the other hand, I’m really hoping the Wood Scouts haven’t come by when my parents are home, either; I do not need to risk those dickweeds disguised as parental figures signing me up for military school. That fact that the Wood Scouts say recruitment efforts instead of enrollment efforts speaks for itself._

_I also need to not get expelled from Campbell’s school, which mean I need to actually make an effort to do my work and pass my classes. I should probably also figure out what it takes to get legally expelled from a charter school._

_I think I’ve figured out how I’m going to spend my weekend. Here’s to hoping the community college’s library has something that can help me._

_... Jesus Christ, why doesn't this place have a public school?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next entry may not come for a while. I've got social stuff planned next weekend, and school will be full of tests, weird schedules, and presentations. If I'm lucky, I'll post something next Sunday.
> 
> Until then, seriously; are there any questions? If you're confused about anything, I want to incorporate the answers into my chapter outlines. The plot will go on as I've planned it, but if there's a character or a reference to the original material you want to hear about, I'll try to fit in a paragraph or something where I can. I'm happy to let this be influence by its readers.


	4. School Entry 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Describe each of your classes and teachers. What’s your favorite one? What’s your least favorite?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, this is late. But at least it's on a Sunday, like I said.
> 
> These two are feeling a bit out of character to me. I've decided to give the middle finger to my worries about that. This is an AU. Conditions are different than they were in the canon, and by means of John Locke's theory of _tabula rosa_ , these character's will respond differently, because _dammit_ , I say so!

Name: **Max**

Subject:  **English Journal**

Period:  **1** **  
**

_Date: 8/22_

_David, contrary to what you seem to believe, I heard everything you said in your shitty little spiel about how to get extra credit. It’s simple as hell; use words from our vocab list in our journals, get two points of extra credit. Use a higher-level word that’s not on our list, get three points. I’m not some fucking addle pate, and you didn’t have to stop after each sentence to tell me to ‘pay attention, please!’_

_I am, however, amused that each of us has a different list, based on the grade level we should be in. It’s a reminder of how fucking small and inefficient this school is; you don’t even have enough students to afford a classroom per grade level! This place is a microcosm of Sleepy Peak, I swear to god._

_I’m not listening to your prissy fretting anymore. My acknowledgement of your ‘no cursing’ orders lasted long enough for you to enjoy a whole entry of (sort of) curse-free work. Relish it, because on top of this system here, the policy at this school is to NEVER EXPEL STUDENTS UNDER ANY CONDITION. And the best part: With your extra-credit policy, I can write whatever I fucking want and as long as I use enough vocabulary words to compensate for it, I can get above a 100% on each assignment, just by using words like minor or apparent. Bitch, please._

_Now that all my clarifications are over and done with, let’s move on to the goddamn work so I can sleep._

  1. _My first class is English (no shit!), with you (no shit!). If you’re curious about my opinion of either of these things, consult my previous entries._
  2. _Math with Gwen. It’s clear that she has no idea what she’s doing, and the littler kids who are struggling to grasp the concept of the number 6 take up all her time, so even if I needed her help, I couldn’t get it. But I don’t need her help. I can solve 645 x 108 all by myself, thank you very much. I just do what Gwen does when she’s trying to help Nurf with algebra; I use a goddamn calculator._
  3. _P.E. with the Quartermaster. It’s mostly just him watching the more hyper brats run around the old soccer field while the rest of us find a patch of grass to sleep on, preferably several meters away from anyone else. The ‘class’ itself isn’t terribly riveting (although it’s fun to watch some of what I like to call Soccer Field Drama ™), but I have a lot of questions about our Quartermaster. Why do we call him the Quartermaster, but everyone else here (including the teachers) goes by their first name? And where did he lose his fucking hand!? This guy is licensed to drive a bus using a hook!?_
  4. _Science with Daniel. At least, that’s what it says on paper. I don’t know where you found this guy (from what I’ve overheard, he’s newly employed), but honest to god, he looks and sounds like a cultist. When most science teachers sitting in their classroom/budgeted lab room, they lecture the kids about safety hazards: don’t eat the lab materials, don’t try to sneak any equipment home, blahblahblahfuckoff. Last week, Daniel started off well; he introduced himself and started learning everyone’s names; it was predictable, it was expected, and it was boring. But when it came time to whip out the Lab Safety waivers, he suddenly burst into this rant about how scientific facts don’t actually exist, science doesn’t prove anything, and how we can’t trust it and we should consider other ways of validating the world… or something like that. I’m paraphrasing here. Anyways, I looked it up, and apparently no, scientific facts don’t exist, but there’s more to it than that; there’s this whole process to proposing a theory and gathering evidence to support that theory and—fuck this, there’s too much to write out, and it’s off-topic. My point is, Daniel’s a creep who really knows how to influence people with half-truths. I am a little worried for my safety, and the exploding, toxic science part of that class has nothing to do with it._
  5. _And the last two periods of the day are free periods, where literally anyone who has business being at this school gathers outside (except for Daniel; where does he go? I know for a fact he’s not in his office, I checked.) and we choose some random-yet-bizarrely-specific activity to do for 100 minutes, typically something proposed by a student. It’s hit-or-miss with this stuff, and as of this point in the year, it’s just a fuck-ton of misses. I have no interest whatsoever in learning magic tricks from either of the two weirdos in our class, and I heard Preston trying to convince Gwen to devote half of these free periods to creating a class play. Please tell me you guys aren’t considering that shit—this place is already a fucking nightmare with putting that loud-mouthed drama queen in charge of us for an hour each day. I for one, have better things to do with my time. Thanks, but fuck no._



_I don’t really do favorites, David. What’s the point of having a favorite class if all my classes are more of a waste of time than arguing with a 3-year-old? The best time during the school day is lunch, because I can sleep without a teacher waking me up every five minutes. Half an hour is way too short a time to get any decent sleep, though, so even lunch is kind of sucky. It’s mostly a matter of which class I hate the most, and since the last two class periods are unpredictable in every variable (save for the quality factor; they’re always crap), we will never truly know which of the classes provided at this school is the shittiest of them all._

_..._

_There. An answer. I will sleep now, and if you try and wake me up, I will not hesitate to plan a personal project that involves a fuck-ton of origami aircrafts. Don't fuck with me._

* * *

**_Max, at the very least, find more clever, intellectual, and diplomatic ways of forming insults that don’t involve cursing. It will help boost your vocabulary and creativity._ **

_**_Daniel may seem a little unique, but I assure you, he’s an excellent teacher. I hired him myself!_ ** _


	5. Private Entry 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I was re-watching the CC episodes that involved the town, and I realized I made a few mistakes with shop names. Whoops. I go to fix that now.
> 
> I already answered this question in a comment, but I have a pretty lax update schedule. I belted out the first few entries quickly, because people seemed to like this and I'd had a dose of motivation that I didn't want to waste, but now, I'd recommend checking back every Sunday. _There is no guarantee that I'll update every week,_ but if I've managed to sit down and complete something, I'll post it on Saturday night. So if I complete an entry, it'll definitely be in the AO3 feed by Sunday.
> 
> I think that's everything, but as usual, I'll happily answer any questions you leave in the comments.

_**This is a PRIVATE Journal** _

_**If found, mind your own fucking business and deliver to The Only Bar, near Atlas Hardware and Muffin Tops.** _

 

_8/22_

_I’m pretty sure that Sleepy Peak is totally cool with child labor._

_I was wandering around the streets near the Bar when I looked past the washing-machine-sized TVs in a shop window to see a kid sitting at the clerk desk inside. He didn’t look much older than me (even if the bastard was too fucking tall), but there he was, wearing a gaudy green apron like he was expecting a paycheck next week._

_The weird thing is I’ve never seen him before; he doesn’t attend Campbell’s shithole, that's for damn sure. I would’ve thought he was unfortunate enough to be a recruit of the Wood Scouts’, but I don’t think his jewfro would have survived the soldier-cut shave. Maybe he’s homeschooled. Or maybe he doesn’t go to school and just works all day._

_If I had more willingness to give a fuck, I might feel kind of bad for him. But he was staring blankly at a portable TV with that glazed countenance that people get when they’ve been staring at a screen too longs, so in the theoretical scenario where he did in fact work all day, he’s got a pretty fucking good gig going for himself. I have no sympathy, especially since I had so much homework today that I didn’t have any time to sleep at school._

* * *

_Some more weird shit came up this evening; at about 6:23 (according to the clock by my bed, which may or may not be broken) some girl knocked on our door to sell cookies. Who the fuck sells cookies at 6:00?! Not only that, but this weirdo didn’t even seem like she wanted to be talking to us—which I can genuinely understand, because doorbell vending sucks ass for everyone involved. Frankly, I don’t think she should have been out of bed; she looked super pale and listless, like she was about to puke._

_Like the kid in the window of the electronics store, I’d never seen this girl around. She was wearing a uniform, too; some girlish getup complete with a vomit-inducing pink skirt and sash (maybe that’s why she looked so nauseous). My conclusion is that either she’s in child labor for some door-to-door sweet sales company, or there’s a whole other school I’ve yet to learn about. There’s so much new shit I’m discovering about this place, and here I was thinking I learned the ups and downs of Sleepy Peek over the summer. I’m kind of disappointed in my past self, the lazy, arrogant fucker._

_Tomorrow, I need to ask the barkeep if there’s any more schools out on Lake Lilac besides Campbell’s and the Wood Scouts._

_…_

_I should also see if there's any job openings at the Bar. I have literally nothing to do except meander along Plain Street (Christ, why is such a stupid name so fucking accurate), and if I can find a way to make some money without Mom and Dad knowing about it, I could get some pretty nice shit... including a new hoodie._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't just leave these two wonderful kids out of this universe, but I also didn't want them to be here before Max. So. Yeah.


	6. School Entry 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Write a poem about anything you want! No specific style is required this time.

Name: **Max**

Subject: **English Journal**

Period: **1**

Date: _8/24_

_Poetry, David._

_You want us to write. Fucking. Poetry._

_You want us, a group of six-to-sixteen-year-olds, to write about our feelings._

_Is any of this sinking in? Are you catching on to how fucking imbecilic your request is, and how cringe-worthy this will be? One of two things will happen, depending on the student; either they won’t write a poem at all, or they’ll give you a piece of shit scrawled crookedly on a slice of mashed-up tree._

_What sort of grading scale are you even using for this? Are you planning to use your own judgement to gauge how much you like a poem, and then giving it a grade based on your personal opinion? That’s more unfair than the time I had to make an entire group project by myself about knitting (don’t even fucking ask)!_

_I won’t do it. I absolutely refuse to succumb to this broken, useless assignment you have splayed out to us. There is no conceivable reason why I should be required to explain everything that goes on in my head to you. I sure as hell don’t need to convey it to you in the form of some flowery, spit-ridden love letter!_

_How is this supposed to help me in life? I was under the impression that school was supposed to be where kids learned things that would help them in life. Well, I’ve been in school for five years now, and the most helpful thing I’ve learned so far is how to piss people off when they deserve it—and I don’t even get a grade for it!_

_Why aren’t there any lessons about how to keep a house or a backpack tidy? I may not particularly like cleaning, but if teachers and parents are constantly nagging kids to keep their stuff organized, then maybe there should be a class about it, or at least a few goddamn lessons._

_What about paying bills or writing checks? I’d like to have some idea how to do that shit before I’m living on my own and I have to figure it out myself while simultaneously praying I not going to be arrested for tax evasion because no one fucking taught me how to fill out a bill!_

_How about job interviews? Ever considered teaching us about how to get through those replications of hell? Gwen once told us that the only reason she works here is because no other place would give her a job, and I know enough about employment procedures to know that the key factor in acceptance rates is how well the job candidate can suck up to their potential bosses. Can we learn how to get a job, please?_

_Poetry, in no way, shape, or form, will help me or anyone else in this room later in life. And poetry is just a microcosm of school, and America’s education system as a whole. If my classmates and I decided to venture out into the world with nothing in our heads but what our teachers wanted us to learn, then we’d all end up working as prostitutes, McDonald’s employees, and drug dealers because our education never taught us how to be successful._

_I’m annoyed that I have to be the one who has to tell you this, David, but YOU. ARE. NOT. HELPING._

_So please, either start teaching us something worthwhile or fuck off._

* * *

 

**_Excellent poem, Max! It seems you forgot a title, though._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I love poetry. As in, I love poetry the way Space Kid loves space.


	7. School Entry 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to write another poem! This time, make the first letter of each line a letter in your name! Be lax about it, your poem doesn’t have to rhyme or even SOUND like a poem! For example:
> 
> Dear students,  
> As your teacher, I’m tickled pink to say I’m  
> Very happy with your first (and last) poems that you wrote for me!  
> I hope that you all find time outside of class to write poetry, because I  
> Deeply believe that it will indirectly help you in more ways than one.
> 
> Also kids, exciting news: Mr. Campbell called us, and he says he'll be in the country to visit us in about ten days! Look forward to some fun, kiddos!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I was gone a while. Yes, I have reasons. All I can say is some really important, unexpected, and emotionally taxing events occurred in the lives of my friends, and I needed to be there for them.
> 
> That being said, I can assure all of you that, no matter the length of a hiatus, I have not forgotten about this story, and I fully intend to complete it.

Name: **Max**

Subject: **English Journal**

Period: **1**

Date: _8/28_

_Fine, David. Fine. But if I’m going to cooperate with this bullshit, then you have to actually take what I say with a grain of salt. Or dirt. Or shit. Or bubblegum-fucking-pink. Whatever it is in this world that you value, you fucking idiot._

**_M_ ** _ay someone please acknowledge that Daniel is_

 **_A_ ** _ctively trying to fucking kill us all before he successfully manages to gradually bleach all of our_

 **_X_ ** _anthic shirts until we’re all cloaked in the same cultish white as he._

_I had to look up ‘xanthic’ in the dictionary. Aren’t you so fucking proud of me for ‘taking the initiative in my career of learning?’_

**_ Bitch. _ **

_…_

_Look, sorry, but I’m not sorry._

_Sorry, because yesterday, I lost something really important, and I’m fucking pissed off about it, and I might be taking it out on you, and you might actually deserve an apology for some of the things I said today. And all the paper airplanes. (But just so we’re clear, I had nothing to do with Nurf’s decision to wreck the classroom. Really, I didn’t.)_

_Not sorry, because you are the densest person I know, and I know a lot of birdbrained bastards. But really, all I’m asking is for your stupid bird brain to listen for one goddamn second._

_At the very least, Daniel is not fit to be a teacher. At the very most, Daniel is one of those people who actually deserves the death sentence—he may be even less qualified to be around children than Roy Moore. I swear to god, David, at least keep a fucking eye on him. He creeps me out, and I know some of the other kids are scared of him. Please. Sit in the classroom with us for one day. Come see what I mean. Please. Please.  **Please**._

* * *

**_I’m sorry, Max, but with that visit from Mr. Campbell creeping up on us so quickly, and so much to do for it, I only had time to read your poem. I promise that next time I collect all your journals, I will peruse all that you've written here._ **

**_In the future, please try to keep cursing out of the poetry you submit for school. Thank you very much, and I’m sure you’re looking forward to finally meeting your school’s principal!_ **

**_Please, when Mr. Campbell is here, be on your best behavior. I don’t know what was going on today, but I’m running out of patience for your misconduct._ **

**_~David_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another reason why I didn't post for so long is because all my ideas for this have to come _later_ in the story, which is why this entry is more for plot purposes.


	8. To Do List 1

**_ Thing to Do Before Monday _ **

  1. **_Find another pencil, because chewed-up pens found on classroom floors are fucking disgusting._**
  2. **_Continue to look for private journal._**



**_Seriously, where the hell did I leave it? It’s not on the bus, it’s not at the bar, it’s not at the house, it’s not in my backpack. My next best guess would be someone from school stole it, but there’s been no ridicule or teasing directed my way for owning a journal. So that means someone not from school picked it up somewhere (possibly the bus; maybe it fell out of my bag?)._ **

**_Jesus Christ, I should have burned that thing a while ago._ **

  1. **_Visit library for history books and old chemistry textbooks, esp. the Big Bang. Reconfirm that what Daniel’s spouting in class is, in fact bullshit, and that Zeemuug does not, in fact, exist._**



**_I swear to god, that school is making me lose all sense of what’s right. Yesterday, I was second-guessing myself about the health benefits of rat poison. Everything seems so uncertain, and it’s like I’m going insane. Is this what it feels like to be brainwashed? RESIST IT AT ALL COSTS._ **

  1. **_Remove all spam mail about Woodscouts from mailbox. Proceed to recycle that shit ASAP._**



**_And steal the newspaper while I’m at it. It’s not like anyone else will actually fucking read it._ **

  1. **_Put in some hours at the Bar. Getting paid to wash dishes is a pretty damn good deal._**



**_5a. Start memorizing some of the recipes the Barkeep plans to add. Just because he won’t let kids mix drinks doesn’t mean he won’t promote them to cook._ **

  1. **_Explore more of the town. I will not humiliate myself again by not knowing about a major landmark. Once I really know the ins and outs of this place, I’ll be better off._**



**_6a. Check out some of the hiking trails near the edges of town. Yeah, they’re disgusting, but unlike public buses and buildings, nobody is there. Privacy is gold._ **

****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah. It's short. Y'know what else it is? An entire fic written in documents. They're not all going to be 1K words long.
> 
> AO3 does not translate lists from Microsoft Word very well. I honestly don't have the energy to try and fix it.
> 
> Just. Here. Take it. I wrote it, what else am I going to do with it? All my fun stuff comes later, and I have to build a bridge to that somehow.


	9. School Entry 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Write a limerick today! It's a little tricky, but I have faith that all of you can do this. Let me know if you need any help!

Name:  **Max**

Subject:  **English Journal**

Period:  **1**

Date:  ** _8/29_**

 

_**Okay, David, it's time to wake the fuck up.** _

_**Seriously, did you see that? Did you see that really awful thing Nurf did? I didn't either, and that's the fucking problem! I started watching him after the change in his outfit (did you notice that, at least? He's breaking the goddamn dress code), and I counted six times today when he had an opportunity to hurt someone that he should have taken with sadistic enthusiasm, and he didn't take it. Six times where he could have lashed out for attention, and all he did was smile. Smile and sit in his desk, with his hands folded together like some posh, enthusiastic student who actually wants to be here. Nothing is snapping him out of it; I even tried hitting him to see if he would hit me back, but there was nothing. He barely blinked.**_

_**It's not just Nurf who's behaving this way; Space Kid and Dolph have changed their clothes and have taken to wandering around in a sort of blissful stupor. Space Kid has only mentioned space a few times today, and even then, it's only to say something about negative energy. In what universe is this not considered uncanny?**_

_**Daniel definitely has something to do with this. I may not have any evidence right now, but I know he does. Nurf, Space Kid, and Dolph are all wearing white, and guess what Daniel wears: white. Just white. Like a fucking cult leader. I am convinced that this guy is fucking insane.** _

_**I'm willing to bet that those three are just the first of Daniel's victims; everyone who comes into contact with him is affected in one way or another, including me. We're all slowly being brainwashed in that classroom, and I can tell I'm the only one who's trying to resist; at least, no one is showing outward signs of a struggle for sanity.** _

_**I know you probably don't want to admit that you, as a teacher with responsibilities, hired an awful employee, but eventually, you're going to have to listen to me and consider that you made a real fuck-up. Daniel is a creep, and he is a threat to the safety of everyone in this school, and possibly the entire town. Admitting your mistake now and doing something to fix it is better than turning your head the other way and hoping someone else solves your problem for you. Fix your own mistakes. Dig your way out of your own problems. Even I know that.** _

_**Please, David, am I coming to the point where I'm losing my mind, and honestly, I have no idea what to do about it. I'm a fucking ten-year-old. I don't know how to handle this alone. You're a teacher, true, but you're also the person who hired Daniel in the first place. I'll bet you have the ability to fire him, too. This needs to happen.** _

_**Please.**_

* * *

_**Max, I can't find your poem, and I'm under too much stress to search through all this myself. Next time you get your journal back, please circle it for me.** _

 

_**I've just received intel that the Camp Critic Committee, or CCC, is coming to inspect our school during the same week that Mr. Campbell's visit is planned, so not only am I a little more stressed than usual, but I really need to emphasize that you need to behave. No more outbursts in class, okay? There is never a good reason to hit a classmate.**_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kay, so we're, like, two entries away from what I really want to write.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who is slogging through this with me. Especially you lovely people who are taking the time to leave kudos and write nice stuff in the comments. It's hard to understand how impactful that stuff is until you've put something you've created in a position where others can judge it. During the really bad times, that shit can give you the energy you need to keep going. And I'm not just talking about writing.
> 
> So, good rule of thumb, children: if you've got a nice thing to share about a nice thing someone has shared, then let yourself be known. You're doing good, and that's a good habit to develop.


	10. A Letter Left on David's Desk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I shouldn't feel the need to say this, but this work has a lot of cursing in it. It's no surprise to me, given the source material; it's no surprise to anyone. But I was shocked with myself for all the awful language I drew from my lexicon to produce this. I even ended up deleting a lot. Believe it or not, I barely curse when I'm speaking IRL. Like, if any of my friends or family found this, they might be a _little_ shocked.
> 
> So. Um. Warning: this is a very angry, sweary thing that you have been reading.

_**9/1** _

 

_**You've had my journal to grade all week, David, and shit hasn't happened. That's all I need to see to know you aren't listening to me.** _

_**You know what, David? Fuck you.** _

_**Fuck this school. Fuck this town. Just fuck everything. Not that anything cares, it's all too busy going to shit. The world that we live in is falling apart, and all you care about is your stupid boss and his stupid bosses. I would have thought you'd care a little more about the safety of the kids that you claim to want to help.** _

_**Because you said we could trust you. On the first day of school, you said we could trust you with anything, that you'd always be here to help any of us, no matter what. It didn't have to be important, you'd still listen to us. Turns out, you're full of shit. I'm sorry if my expectations of you were too high. My fucking bad.** _

_**I hate you, David. I hated you even before Daniel started to worry me. But that didn't mean anything, because I hate everything. I can hate you and trust you at the same time. And for a while, after you let me sleep in class, I trusted you. I don't trust you anymore. You have crushed my faith.** _

_**And you know what, David? You were the only person I could trust. My parents don't care, the Quartermaster is useless, and Gwen's been out sick for the last four days. You were the only person I could turn to, and you let me down. I don't know if anyone has ever broken a promise to you before, but I doubt it; if that were the case, then you'd know that shit cuts deep and it fucking hurts.** _

_**But you don't care if I trust you or not. You don't care if you hurt me. Because regardless of anything you may claim, you don't care about me. You may care about the other kids, the ones who actually listen to you, but you don't care about the little shit who threw a paper airplane at you on their first day here and peppers their writing with bad language. Fuck, I'll bet you're not even going to bother to read this, because you're too busy trying to get a raise, or a promotion, or a pat on the head, or whatever other fucking reason you could have for caring so much about the shit you care about.** _

_**I'm done. I have run out of faith in you. I've run out of energy to fight, and Daniel's going to succeed in brainwashing me completely, despite all my work to try and save myself. Then we're probably all going to die. And you're not going to do a thing about it, because fuck anything that doesn't directly hurt you, am I right? Am I fucking right?** _

 

_**Fuck you. Fuck yourself. Fuck anything that supports you or associates with you. Just Fuck. You.** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It occurred to me as I was editing this that I could stop this right here, mark it complete, and give it an _Angst_ tag. I could never touch this story again. Or I could create a series called _An Unofficial Documentation of Cameron Campbell's Charter School_ (or something like that), re-title this work as _The First Nine Weeks_ (or something like that), and leave this be for a while so I can work on other projects. Then I could pick this up again sometime in the future, write another ten entries, and leave it on another cliffhanger, thus creating a cycle.
> 
> Will I do this? Probably not. But it is a thing I could do.  
> ...  
> Anyway~, I hope you all appreciated this week's entry!
> 
> ~~~  
> this is the authors friend. she left her account here and i'm adding this to tell you guys stuff. gotta type fast before she come bakc  
> my buddys not gonna quit this. she likes writing it too much, and shes got a lot planned for it. dont worry, just cuz she takes breaks or says stuff like this dont mean shes stopping  
> shes going through bad time right now. thx to you guys giving her support cuz it helps a ton. no one tell her i added this, k bye


	11. Private Entry 3/Nikki's Letter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess I scared a few people with my end notes last time. Sorry about that.  
> To be clear, I'm not ending this any time soon. All that was just a thought. Think about it: if Daniel had his way and killed them all, no more entries. It would simply end. That's all I was saying.  
> That being said, a few people have sent me some very candid, but very kind, words of support. Thank you for that. Y'all must be psychics or something, because I really needed that.
> 
> And, without further ado, I give the entry I've been itching to share.

**_This is a PRIVATE journal._ **

**_If found, mind your own fucking business and return to The Only Bar, near Muffin Topz and Atlas Hardware._ **

_9/7_

_I am an idiot._

_Jesus Crist, I am a fucking idiot._

_Why? Because I lost my journal. And the moment this stupid thing falls back into my hands—by way of a goddamn miracle—I snap out of the trance Daniel put me under._

_Apparently an entire week passed by, and I don't remember a single thing about it. At all._ _Damn, the only reason I know a week passed is from the calendar, plus the overdue note I got from the library. Funnily enough, my parents seem completely unfazed by my mental absence._

_My mouth tastes the way cockroach pesticide smells. Everything feels stiff and gross and slow and weak and fuzzy and bruised and overworked, like I haven't been eating or sleeping. It's like I died, or turned into a zombie. And then I was resurrected by the world's most insensitive necromancer. Fuck, I feel like I'm on the drugs surgeons use on their patients._

_I kind of pity kids like Space Kid and Nurf: when they wake up, it's going to suck to be them._

_..._

_God, I hope they wake up._

_From what I can tell, the past week I've been going through the normal motions of my life in a stupor, so I was going to the bar. I didn't work, though; according to the little information I've gathered from the Barkeep, I wasn't focused, and he was worried about me, so he just marked the past week as a load of sick days and let me sit there. So I've still got a job, but he decided not to give me workman's comp. I suppose that's fair, but still. Fuck Daniel for costing me money._

_That being said, I still have no idea how I lost this stupid thing, and the way I got it back is just as bemusing; someone actually listened to the note and dropped it off at the Bar. And they left a letter. I'm no sure what to think; I never expected this to happen, no one's ever done this before, and this person sounds... I don't know. They just sound._

_I'm keeping the letter. Because it doesn't feel right to throw away something this bizarre and weird. This logic absolutely does not work, especially considering my normal reaction to this sort of thing, and I'm well-aware of that. But you know what? Fuck my normal world view. I just survived being a fucking zombie._

_..._

_I never thought I'd say this, but it's good to be back._

* * *

**_9/6_ **

****

**_To the owner of this ~~diary~~ journal,_ **

**_I have no idea who you are. I don't even have a clue about who you could be. I might've had some idea about who you are if I'd been the one to find this ugly journal (sorry, but it really is); if I'd found it at school, for example, then I could guess you're probably one of the mean girls who thinks I'm gross and unladylike. But I didn't find this journal; my big brother did, and I don't know where he found it. (Probably near his job. He works at an electronics store, and it's near one of the busiest streets in town.) He gave your journal to me because I'm around town a lot trying to sell cookies. I guess he thought I'd be able to find you more easily._ **

**_Hey, maybe I've seen you before. Who knows? Not me, because I have no idea who you are._ **

**_I read the note you put on the first page. I don't think you're a girl from my school, because none of hem think it's very ladylike to swear, even in writing. They also wouldn't tell me to leave their journal in a Lost and Found at a nasty bar. (I don't think The Only Bar is that bad, though; after all, every floor needs at least a little dirt on it!) Maybe you're a bar-rat like my dad? Dunno. Do you like football and beer?_ **

**_Anyway, don't worry. I didn't read anything in you journal._ **

**_..._ **

**_Okay, I just realized that's a lie. I read the note you wrote on the first page of your PRIVATE journal. That's it, though, I swear._ **

**_I cannot, however, honestly say whether or not my brother read your journal, because I don't know. He very well could have. He probably didn't, though, if that makes you feel any better. I know he probably didn't because he keeps a journal too, only he calls his journal a diary, like the girly-girls at my school do._ **

**_My brother is a total nerd, which is adorable. (Not that I'd ever tell him that, because for some reason, boys hate being called cute. It's weird. (Are you a boy? Does being called cute bother you?) As a girl, I don't mind it if the right person said it.) Are you a nerd too? Or are you a girl who like to write bad words? Or both? Maybe you actually do go to my school, but you keep this super-secret journal where you can write anything you want and no one will know, so you won't get in trouble. I don't know. I'll probably never know._ **

**_It would be cool to get to know you, though. I may not have read any of your entries (although I'm really tempted to), but you seem like a cool person from what I do know about you. Call me crazy, but it would be nice to be your friend. After all, you curse in your journal, and you hang out at a bar instead of your house watching TV like other kids would. (I'm sure you're a kid! You have kiddie handwriting, just like me!)_ **

**_Here's a thought: maybe you aren't a bar-rat, you just know about the Lost and Found at The Only Bar, and you're too embarrassed to admit you keep a journal, so you just tell people to leave it in a public place so you don't have to provide your house's address or show your face!_**

**_My big brother just read this over my shoulder. He thinks I might've nailed down your reasoning. Did I? Dunno._ **

**_You're still pretty cool to me, even if you don't hang out at bars. The way I see it, anyone who can fill a journal is a neat person. I know from my bro that journaling takes a lot of dedication and focus. It may be boring and tedious to me, but I can still admire nerds who do it._ **

**_Anyway, I hope you have your journal back, and nobody stole it from the Lost and Found. Be sure not to lose it again, or else someone more nosy than me and my brother might find it and ignore your note. Happy journaling!_ **

****

**_From Nikki, the Unladylike Flower Scout_**


	12. Private Entry 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omigosh, I am _so_ sorry, you guys! It's been four months, and I promised an update back in May. One thing just led to another, and here we are, in the second month of summer. Again, I'm sorry!
> 
> I'm scrapping any ideas I have of an update schedule. Clearly I can't be trusted to uphold that shit. I _will_ finish this, though, because I refuse to leave this incomplete. It's just going to be at an unknown pace.

_**This is a PRIVATE journal.** _

_**If found, mind your own fucking business and return to The Only Bar, near Muffin Topz and Atlas Hardware.** _

_**9/8** _

****

**_Have you ever had that feeling when you’re in a room of people and everything’s normal and boring and shit, so you get up to go use the bathroom, and you’re only gone for, like, five minutes, and then you get back and shit is different and weird and you’re stuck there wondering how the hell this happened in the five minutes you were gone?_ **

**_…Yeah. I’ve been gone a fucking week._ **

**_I’ll begin with the most surprisng shit: that kid in the electronics store with the jewfro? He’s in my class now. And Daniel’s brain voodoo hasn’t turned him into a whitewashed zombie (yet), which makes him the only other kid in here who’s not been affected. We’re still in homeroom, so I don’t know how he’s responded to Daniel’s bullshit yet, but time will tell. The addition of one more kid doesn’t make the attendance record any more impressive, so we all still have the same classes at the same time._ **

**_Seeing how I’ve only been in class with him (consciously, at least) for about twenty minutes, I don’t know much about him. But he is the only other person here (besides Fucking David), I don’t know much about him. His name is Neil, and he sits in the front near the door. In terms of where I’m sitting, that’s four desks in front of me, and two desks to the left._ **

**_He’s sitting in my old seat. That’s fine, he’s welcome to it. My only disappointment there is I didn’t get to make it completely my choice to sit in the back. My actions are a less obvious ‘fuck you’ to David. I wanted to be very clear about my hatred._ **

**_But as mentioned previously, it’s fine. I have other ways to hate people besides being obnoxious. For starters, I’m not doing David’s work anymore. I’m writing in this stupid thing instead of the other journal, because that bastard’s assignments aren’t worth my time._ **

**_Enough about David, though. He doesn’t deserve this much attention. The really important shit is: both the Camp Critic Committee and Cameron Campbell himself are in town._ **

**_The Critics are these creepy hooded guys with notepads, but my main question about them is why they’re called the Camp Critic Committee if they work more like school superintendents. That’s just sloppy nomenclature, but I guess they’re okay. They don’t do much except wander around, write on their notepads, and make David sweat, which is totally okay in my book._ **

**_Cameron Campbell is a rich Baby Boomer who spends most of his time not caring about this school whatsoever, but I kind of expected that. He’s not a surprise, just a disappointment. I should really just stop giving this school—and this town, to be honest—the benefit of the doubt._ **

**_I’m digressing, though. The real gem here is that, if a proper plan is put into action, this is a golden opportunity to get Daniel and his cult bullshit out of this school. It’s just a matter of exposing Daniel to the CCC and Campbell and getting him fired. The idea of telling someone and hoping they’ll listen clearly didn’t work out (fuck you, David), which means if Daniel’s scheming is going to be noticed, the People who Matter will have to see it themselves. And if I’ve going to reveal Daniel for what he is, I’m going to need some help. Specifically, from the new kid, and possibly Gwen (I’m not holding my breath on that front, though. Teachers are useless.)_ **

**_First, however, I need to see for myself what Neil is like..._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next entry will be better, I promise.
> 
> Again, I apologize for the horrible delay.

**Author's Note:**

> Any questions?


End file.
